and souvenirs. Or hell, maybe I’d just give it all away to the first homeless person I saw.
Then I thought, abso-bloody-lutely not.
He wasn’t going to pay for shit. This wasn’t a real marriage. What’s his was not mine and vice versa. I would just find a place where I could convert my Russian rubles into kuna, and I would pay for my own damn stuff.
What have you ever done, except put on a few outfits and flash your cleavage at the cameras?
His words from the plane blared loudly in my head as I left the villa and walked along the narrow cobblestone road adjacent to the water. The worst part was that he was right. I had done that once upon a time. But it’s not like it had been for free, dammit. Modeling, especially at that level, was a real job. I’d often had to work twelve-hour days, I’d had a demanding shoot schedule, events to attend and appearances to make all the time, plus I’d had to travel constantly. Lack of sleep in those days had been my worst enemy.
I’d been someone else’s property back then.
The studios, designers, companies—whoever I’d signed a contract with owned me. I’d never been my own person, couldn’t have gone off and done my own thing whenever I wanted. I’d had zero freedom and few friends. In fact, after I’d left the modeling game, all the friends I’d made during those years had vanished along with the stardom.
I still got recognized when I went out in public. Not every time and everywhere, like it had been years ago. My Instagram account had kept a small spotlight over my head, though not on purpose. My account was all about good vibes, happy thoughts, encouraging words, and positive images. My experience in the modeling industry had really opened my eyes to how poisoned a person’s mind can become if all they’re ever concerned about is seeking others’ approval. Wanting to be loved by strangers. Idolized by fans.
Talk about an empty existence.
Those years had taught me that focusing on independence, self-sufficiency, compassion, empathy, and kindness was far more meaningful than being a face people recognized and adored.
And now look at me.
I was once again somebody’s property. I’d signed another contract, giving someone else full reign over me.
Uh-uh, no. Stop that. He doesn’t own you. Don’t let him think he has any authority over you whatsoever.
Right. I’d made a lot of progress over the years. I’d gained self-confidence and built up my inner strength. I wasn’t going to let one irredeemable arsehole make me question myself.
I thought I’d seen glimpses of Nico’s humanity yesterday. Parts that had called out to me. When he’d spoken about his businesses, he’d acted…proud. No matter what nasty, apathetic oaths he’d delivered after that, I wasn’t totally buying his materialistic, indifferent attitude. Especially since he’d seemed humbled to be responsible for providing hundreds of people with paychecks. I could tell he’d wanted to come off as arrogant when he’d said that, but his tone hadn’t quite landed.
Honestly? I thought he was secretly honored to be in the important position he was in.
Another glimpse of his miniscule humanity?
He’d noticed my anxiety when the reality of leaving Russia had slammed into me like a head-on collision, and he’d brought me a drink. As if it was the only way he’d known how to help in that moment.
He’d actually wanted to help.
But none of that excused his cruel words.
One good deed did not redeem his verbal slaps to the face. His malice.
I wanted nothing to do with the man.
After locating a small shop where I could convert my currency, I meandered along the broken sidewalks of Rovinj, one of the small towns located in the Istria territory. The buildings on both sides of the road were painted in bright white, yellow, and red. Boats dotted the watery landscape near the marina to my right. The town’s cathedral towered above the horizon, briefly blocking the sun as I shielded my eyes to gaze up at its splendor.
Walking about in public like this without a guard was…freeing.
It wasn’t often I was without personal security. Even when I’d been away for secondary school and university, Batya had made sure I’d always been “looked after.” And in Moscow, Dimitri kept a watchful eye on Batya and myself at all times.
Dimitri.
I’d known Batya’s righthand man since I was eleven, when he’d started working in my father’s organization. We’d become friends over the years, confidantes. He’d never divulged where he’d come